Alphabet Soup
by Crinklybrownleaves
Summary: This is an A to Z of tiny stories and drabbles, all too short to stand alone. Involving lots of Dr Blake characters, but most will have Lucien and / or Jean in (well, what else would you expect from me!). All different times and moods, the only thing that holds them together is that there is one for each letter of the alphabet.
1. Awakening

Even as it happened, he knew everything would change.

Whisky and Jean had been his two great consolations since returning to Ballarat, and he thought he knew them both so well. His trusted friends, one leading to oblivion and one to clarity.

But then Jean broke, and he saw inside her shell. She cried hot tears over Jack, her weakness, her failure. And as Lucien held her in the sunroom, he closed his eyes on their friendship. Something raw, something painful replaced it, and when he opened his eyes again he recognised it as desire.

Holding her face gently, he looked at her with longing, tempted to kiss her, but saw fear in her eyes. Maybe love, but fear too, and the warning that it was too soon.

And then she was gone, relieved perhaps to answer the phone, while he looked over the garden. It would be his other trusted friend he would turn to tonight.


	2. Brooch

She smiled cautiously as Matthew stepped over the threshold, with the parcel under his arm. But he scarcely heard her speaking to him as his eyes were drawn to the brooch over her breast. Bluish-green jade and gold, it matched her eyes, suited her, yet was out of place.

The Jean he knew, old Thomas Blake's housekeeper, could never afford something so rare. And it was foreign too, exotic, Oriental. And that struck a discordant note in his mind. Why would practical, efficient, disciplined Jean wear a showy thing like that?

It didn't take much detecting. Lucien. Only he would think it a suitable gift for his housekeeper.

Were the rumours true then? He couldn't blame Lucien for trying; she was a lovely woman. But Jean surprised him, made him wonder. What did she see in a damaged, drunken man like Blake? Was it his departure for China that made her act like this?

As Mattie and Danny unwrapped the parcel, he exchanged a look with Jean, and she saw his eyes settle again on the brooch. She smiled at him conspiratorially.

"Just till he comes home," she said. And he nodded then in understanding.

So Blake didn't know - yet - that his housekeeper was waiting for more than his return, and that the jewel she really wanted was his heart.


	3. Connection

The 18 year old Blake fled Ballarat with barely a backward glance. In his eagerness to escape the father he resented and the girl he didn't love enough, even Edinburgh didn't seem too far to go. His spirits lifted immediately he arrived, and not even the chill of the haar could hide the beauty of the place.

So he made a new life, rejecting everything Ballarat had offered, travelling Europe and Asia, living a life of excitement and danger. And the wife he chose, Mei Lin, she was everything his father would have rejected - foreign, reserved, proud. To Lucien she was exotic, fun loving and strong, and he fell in love with her on sight.

Years later he went unwillingly back to his home town. Pushing fifty, defeated in his attempts to put his family back together, in a limbo of not knowing, he went back to watch his father die. No grand reconciliation this; they both played the part required of them and Lucien found himself walking in his father's footsteps.

Even Jean was his father's. Her constant comparisons between Lucien and his father grated on him. He wasn't his father - and had no wish to be. Yet slowly, so slowly, he saw something in her. So different to Mei Lin, yet she had strength and pride too, and her reserve covered a life time of hardship that had still not hardened her.

He felt himself sliding into love. No headlong fall this time; they were older, more cautious. But this woman, who had scarcely ever left the town he had run so far from, kept him in Ballarat. While she was there, he would never leave. He was reconciled to its memories now, held there by a quiet Australian woman that he had travelled the world to find, only to discover her back at home, in his home.

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 **Author's note: Haar is a Scottish word for a chilly fog that blows in off the sea, usually in the summer. I lived in Edinburgh for 7 years and it's one of my abiding memories of the place (which in other ways is a fantastic place to live).**


	4. Date

**Thank you you for the lovely reviews. Some of these little bits may end up in bigger stories one day, who knows?**

He should have realised when he overheard her on the phone in his study. Or when she asked if he was home for dinner that evening. But he hadn't seen it coming at all.

So the first sign was a strange hat on his peg. Annoying, but no more. They must have a visitor. The second clue was an unfamiliar voice talking with Jean, and she sounded relaxed and flirtatious. But he didn't really understand till he saw her fixing a drink for someone, and that someone wasn't him.

Too stunned to be subtle, he found himself running his eyes from her pinned up hair to her high heels, with interesting detours on the way, via a dress he had never seen her wear before. A jolt of something he didn't want to name shot through him. Jean had a date. His Jean. He hastily rethought. Not his Jean. So very obviously not his...

And her date was sitting in Lucien's place at the table.

Good manners forced them all to a show of friendliness, but Lucien felt unexpectedly bereft. After he said goodnight to them he went to seek solace in a whisky bottle. Was this feeling of emptiness just the prospect (albeit distant as yet) of losing his housekeeper, or was it the uneasiness of jealousy?


	5. Evening

Sitting in the car and facing out across the water, Lucien wondered why it had taken him so long to come home. He didn't have many happy memories of his father, but this was one; their own secret spot by Lake Wendouree, tranquil and beautiful. He had loved his father blindly then, with no doubts or resentments, in the years before his mother's death. For Lucien this place was the joy of childhood, a place where he was free to be happy.

He had brought Mei Lin to the lake, trying to show her what it was about his home town that kept him there. She hadn't quite understood. She could see the beauty of the rippling water and the reeds, but it didn't stir her soul. Perhaps you had to grow up in Ballarat to understand.

Now, as the sun started to set over the distant water, the pink sky bathed them both in a warm light, and he turned to speak to Jean, but when he saw her face he kept silent, watching her for a moment. She seemed captivated by the changing colours of the sky, and by the black swans disappearing into the darkening shadows. She must have sensed his eyes on her, because she reached out and took his hand.

"Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?" she asked him, still not turning to him.

"Never," he replied, but he was no longer looking at the view.


	6. Fading

Jean dragged the box out from under her bed and wiped the dust off with her handkerchief. It was a heavy wooden box, inlaid with marquetry, and one of the few things she had left from her life with Christopher. Lifting it onto the bed, she opened it slowly and sighed with relief to see her memories laid out in front of her.

She picked up her father's pocket watch and turned it over in her hand, rubbing her thumb against the engraving on the back. She remembered playing with the watch as a child, her father passing it to her to keep her quiet in church. She hadn't thought about it in years.

Replacing the watch gently she found what she had come looking for. As she pulled out the envelope of photos, she caught sight of Mattie on the landing, through her open bedroom door. Taking Jean's smile as encouragement, Mattie came closer, leaning on the doorframe with her arms folded.

"What are you doing, Jean?" she asked.

"Come and see," Jean replied, and she sat on the bed, patting the space next to her to invite Mattie to join her.

"Ah, photos!" Mattie leaned closer to see.

"Mm, they're all in a bit of a muddle, I'm afraid." Jean flicked through the few photos till she found the one she wanted. "There. What do you think?"

"Is it..?" Mattie didn't want to get it wrong. "Is it Christopher?"

Jean nodded, and Mattie looked more closely at the man in the photo. He looked young, maybe in his twenties, and seemed uncomfortable in the suit he was wearing. He wasn't smiling, but he was good looking, and Mattie found herself searching for a likeness to his sons. She could see more of Jack in him; the wavy dark hair in particular, and he was tall, too.

She handed the photo back to Jean, who looked at it for a moment, and then propped it upright on her dressing table. She returned the other photos to the box and closed the lid decisively.

"It's his birthday today," Jean said. "He would have been 49." Looking at the photo leaning against her mirror, she added, " I can't remember his voice anymore, and even his face is fading. He was my husband and I can hardly remember what he looked like."

Mattie wasn't sure what to say. "It's been a long time, Jean."

Jean nodded, and she knew Mattie meant well, but it didn't help with the guilt. She stood up and Mattie took the hint that she wanted to be alone now, and went downstairs.

Jean replaced the box under her bed and sat looking at the picture again. It wasn't just time that was making Christopher seem distant. She still loved him but she was letting him go, she knew. Would he mind, she wondered? Would he be jealous that she was beginning to give her heart to Lucien?

She didn't know. She hoped he would be letting her go too, if he could, because she knew it was time.

Time for a new life, if Lucien wanted that too.


	7. Gold

**This one is a bit longer, more of a one shot really. I will admit, I loved writing this one!**

She found the tin tray and a trail of mud and sand on the hall floor and, pursing her lips in annoyance, she went in search of the culprit. She found him in his bedroom.

"Lucien, what have you been doing? All that mess..."

He looked guiltily at his mother. "Sorry, Mum. Matthew and I went panning for gold in the creek. He thought he found some but he didn't." Genevieve tried her best to keep a straight face.

"I don't think a tin tray would be much good for finding gold, Lucien," she replied, "and the gold has run out anyway, more than 50 years ago."

He looked disappointed, and even more so when she sent him to wash his grubby knees and hands. Genevieve took pity on him and cleared up the mess in the hallway. She could never resist the shamed look in his eyes when he was in trouble.

He came to find her later in her studio, bored now that he had no one to play with. He loved being in his mother's studio, everything about it reflected his mother: he loved the smell of the oil paint and smoke from the fire, the light shining through the tall windows onto the wooden floor, and all his mother's paintings around the walls.

He squatted on a stool by the window and waited. He knew she didn't like to be interrupted when she was working, so he contented himself with watching her and looking at the dust motes dancing in the spring sunlight.

The painting she was working on was nearly finished, and she was adding some gold to something in the background of the picture. He'd never seen her do this before, so he moved his stool closer and watched more carefully.

She lifted a piece of gold leaf with some waxed paper, and smoothed it onto the painted canvas, then brushed away the parts that didn't stick to the area she had prepared. Suddenly, there was a thin edge of gold on the vase in the painting, and Lucien was fascinated by the way it caught the light.

"So is that gold from Ballarat?" he asked, standing up to have a closer look at it.

"I don't know," his mother replied. "It may be. I buy it from a shop in Melbourne, so it's probably Australian gold."

She picked up a small piece of the gold leaf that had fallen on the floor, and put it on the palm of her son's hand.

"It's really light," he said quietly, watching it move as he breathed on it. "I thought gold was heavy. That's why panning works, isn't it?"

She laughed. "Yes, gold is heavy, but this is so thin and so delicate that it feels light." She took the piece from his hand and beckoned him over to the fireplace. "Look, it's so light it can fly!" She held the gold leaf over the fire and let it go.

She pointed at it as it floated up, glittering and twisting, until it stuck to the dark wood ceiling. Then she turned to Lucien, who was still looking at it open mouthed. She smiled at his look of wonder and ruffled his hair.

"Now, you had better go and play in the garden. I need to finish this before dinner and I still have plenty to do."

As Lucien walked away he picked up another fragment of gold leaf from the floor. Could he fool Matthew into thinking he had found it in the creek, he wondered? He put it in his pocket ready for tomorrow's gold prospecting expedition with his friend.


	8. Hands

She had always thought he had beautiful hands. Surgeon's hands, she supposed. More delicate than you might expect for a big man, she had watched them surreptitiously as he played the piano, wrote in his appointments book, or poured himself another whisky.

And he had always loved to touch. He did it to everyone; a hand on the shoulder or a touch on the back. Calming, reassuring, soothing.

But with her it was different. Her skin burned, sensitive where his fingertips had been. He pulled her blouse from the waistband of her skirt, and let his hand lie flat on her side, against her bare skin, and heat flared there. She closed her eyes and sighed against him as he slid his hand slowly down to her hip, and grasped it. He spread his fingers and her mind filled with the contact between them.

As she let her head fall forward onto his shoulder she whispered, "You have such beautiful hands."


	9. Indiscreet

Lucien cleared his throat as Charlie went to leave the table.

"I want to talk to you Charlie, but I need you to keep what I'm going to say to yourself. Can you do that?"

Charlie looked hurt. He had thought that the Doc trusted him now, and that the days when Blake thought he was feeding information to Munro and Melbourne were behind them. He opened his mouth to object but thought again.

Better to find out what the Doctor was trying to tell him.

"Yes, I can do that." Charlie winced at the memory of Lawson bawling him out over his indiscretions to witnesses. But he'd learned the lesson well.

Lucien noticed the embarrassment on Charlie's face. His point had been made.

"Right. Well, Jean and I are courting, since we came back from Adelaide. We thought you should know. But if everyone else knows about it too, it could be difficult for her. So, we are only going to tell you and Mattie."

Charlie grinned. "Congratulations, Doc." The two men smiled at each other conspiratorially. "I won't ask what happened in Adelaide then."

Blake ignored that; sharing confidences didn't go that far. Charlie thought for a moment and then shook his head.

"There's no chance of this staying private, though, Doc. Everyone knows how you feel about her. I'm afraid that's the worst kept secret in Ballarat."

Blake looked appalled. He knew there were occasional rumours because they lived in the same house, but this was far worse; it seemed he and Jean had not hidden their intentions as well as he had thought.

"Really, Charlie? Have we been that transparent?"

Charlie laughed. "Of course. It's really very obvious. And you followed her all the way to Adelaide." And then he got up and left, thankful that, for once, it wasn't him who had been indiscreet.


	10. Jam

Jean glanced up from her cooking as Lucien came into the kitchen. He seemed keener than usual to know what was going on, looking at the things she had out on the table for some clues.

"Jam making?" he offered tentatively.

"Yes, what gave it away?" She laughed easily in his company now.

"Well, the first clue was the amazing smell, then all these jars, and finally that bubbling cauldron you are stirring," He came closer to peer at the boiling concoction on the stove, and took the opportunity to lean over Jean's shoulder and kiss her neck. He ran his lips up her neck to her jaw and felt her shiver a little in his hands, which were firmly planted on her hips.

"Go carefully," she said, but indulgently. "This is really hot. Be useful and put the jars in the oven for me please..."

"The jars? In the oven?" He waved two of them in the direction of the stove and looked confused.

"...to sterilise them." She smiled as he nodded in realisation of what she meant.

"At least you are not stealing them this time and filling them with filthy water," she added. Was that really only a year ago? It seemed a lifetime away.

As Jean stirred, Lucien tried to distract her, intent on holding her against him. They had been married just a few weeks, and his hands seemed to gravitate towards her whenever they could.

He had been slightly surprised at how enthusiastic Jean had proved to be. She seemed to yearn for his affectionate touch, and once they were married the floodgates had been opened. Now she pushed herself back against him at the stove, wriggling against him in a way that made it hard for him to think straight.

They swayed a little together and he kissed her hair behind her ear, knowing just the place she loved.

Eventually she stopped him and took the jars out of the oven. Ten minutes later she had filled them, and she looked with satisfaction at a dozen or so jars of plum jam lined up on the table. The last few scrapings from the pan went into a bowl, and she offered Lucien a taste of it on a spoon.

He took the sweet jam from the spoon, and grinned at her. "Amazing!" he said, with a glint in his eye. He dipped the spoon in the bowl again and touched Jean's cheek with it quickly, before she realised what he intended.

He slid the spoon gently down her jaw then quickly kissed where the jam had touched her.

"But it's even sweeter like this." He kissed a line along her jaw, licking away the jam delicately with his tongue as he went.

"Lucien!" she said. "What on earth...?" but then she groaned, eyes closed, as he carried on down her neck, and she tilted her head so he could reach better. The spoon clattered on the hard floor, forgotten.

When he lifted his head to kiss her mouth, his lips were sticky and tasted of plums. While he was concentrating on sliding his hand under the waistband of her skirt, he didn't notice she had dipped her finger into the bowl beside them.

When she reached up to stroke his cheek he realised, too late, what she intended, and then her tongue was on his cheek as she kissed her way, rather stickily, down into his beard.

Soon Lucien had his hand under the back of Jean's skirt and she started to kiss him firmly on the mouth, with her hands linked round the back of his neck, and pressing her hips against him.

Minutes passed when they entirely forgot where they were, standing in their kitchen with Jean now backed up against the table edge as Lucien leaned into her. Suddenly she broke away, breathless, and murmured, "Charlie will be home soon, we should stop."

"Or we could just go somewhere more private?" Lucien suggested, and his eyes inclined towards their bedroom door.

"Hmm," Jean nodded briefly, then smiled at him, as she picked up the bowl of jam and led him away by the hand.


	11. Knee-deep

"Did you have to go in in your suit trousers?" Her voice warned him to tread carefully now in what he said.

"I could hardly go in without them," he answered, raising his eyebrow at her, trying to make her smile at least at the thought.

Jean's lips remained pursed as he spoke, but he thought he could then see the ghost of a smile on her face, before she started to fuss about him getting changed.

"If you will go wading about in Lake Wendouree, you could at least wear suitable clothes. These will need dry-cleaning now. And why were you going in the water anyway?"

Her curiosity was beginning to outweigh her irritation, Lucien was glad to note. He still hadn't got the measure of his father's housekeeper.

He knew she was efficient and practical, and he knew she had cared for his father with devotion, but he hadn't yet seen much of the kindliness his father used to mention in his letters.

"I wanted to find these," he said, and pulled out a heap of sodden paper from a bag that was now sitting in a mess of mud and water on the kitchen floor. "I thought we could dry them out and see what sort of letters Philip Morrisey was writing to Anne." He noticed Jean frowning at the puddle on her clean floor, and decided this would be a good moment to go and get changed.

On his return, he found an intriguing scene. The mud and water had gone, and Jean was draping the letters over the rails of her clothes horse, with Mattie's help. He hovered in the doorway and watched them for a moment.

He was already becoming fond of Mattie; he enjoyed her company and sense of adventure, and he suspected she liked the change in her routine that his cases provided. But watching the women now, he realised Jean was taking the lead. She was the one trying to read the letters, and who had spotted something different in one of them.

And her eyes were sparkling as she followed up her suspicions that the last letter was written by someone else. Lucien realised he had underestimated her - there was a lively mind behind the frown she usually granted him. Hidden depths. He began to be intrigued.


	12. Love and

Lucien reflected that mornings were much more pleasurable since he and Jean had become engaged. Now, she not only straightened his tie and smoothed down his collar, but she also sent him away with a kiss.

On this particular morning, Lucien was reluctant to let go. He had caught her round the waist with his arm, while his other hand was tangled in the curls of her hair. What had started as a brief kiss was rapidly becoming more passionate, and Jean showed no signs of backing away.

Inevitably, of course, the phone rang, and Jean pushed him away gently and hurried off to answer it. Still savouring the thought of that kiss, Lucien gathered up his keys and bag, and headed towards the door. He could overhear enough of Jean's phone call to know it wasn't for him, so he put on his hat and set off for the police station.

Today he was only visiting the station to complete some paperwork, and it occurred to him that he could fit in a house call to an elderly patient on the way.

Mrs Williams was pleased to have any visitors, and it was twenty minutes before he had drunk the tea she offered, checked on her blood pressure and medications, and chatted to her a little about her grandchildren. It occurred to him that she was peering at him rather closely, and he wondered if she might need some new glasses. Perhaps he should suggest it.

As she opened the front door to let him out, she asked him, "How is Mrs Beazley, Doctor? I do hope she's well?"

Lucien was slightly surprised at the last minute question, but he turned back on the doorstep to reply.

"She's very well, Mrs Williams. Did you know we are getting married next month?"

"I thought you might be," she replied. "Goodbye, Doctor." And she promptly closed the door behind him.

With a slight sense of unease, Lucien drove on to the police station, where he breezed past Ned and Bill with a cheery good morning, and utterly failed to notice the glances they exchanged with each other.

Sitting, uninvited, in the visitors' chair at Frank's desk, he waited for Frank to finish his phone call. Lucien then immediately launched into the questions he needed answering about their last case, but he quickly got the impression Frank was distracted. He was fiddling with his pen and seemed to be only half listening. When Lucien eventually paused for breath, Frank cut in and asked, "How's Jean?" Lucien stared at him, puzzled.

"She's fine, Frank, but what about the case?"

"I think you should look in the mirror first," Frank said, grinning at him.

A horrible suspicion was forming in Lucien's mind. He slowly stood, then made a dash for the toilets. As he left he could hear Frank and Bill laughing.

As he stood in front of the mirror his suspicions were confirmed. All suddenly became clear - Mrs Williams' eyesight problem, Frank's lack of attention, the distant laughter he could still hear down the hall. Lucien was usually a stranger to embarrassment, but today was going to be an exception.

Because all too obviously across his face were the tell-tale signs of those kisses.

Lipstick.


	13. Mostly

"So, Jean, has life settled down now Mei Lin has left?" Alice looked at her warily, not sure whether Jean would want to talk about it.

Jean considered for a moment. "I'm not sure that any life that involves Lucien will ever be settled, Alice. It's not in his nature."

Alice smiled at that and Jean was grateful for this budding friendship. Alice probably understood and liked Lucien better than anyone except Jean. Since Derek Alderton's death and Lucien's time in the police cell, Alice and Jean had found their own friendship, independent of him.

"But Lucien is going to divorce Mei Lin, and then we plan to get married." Jean continued, but she didn't look as delighted about that as Alice might have expected.

"Isn't that good news?" she asked tentatively. Even Alice, who wasn't always quick to pick up on feelings, could see it wasn't completely good news.

"Mostly, I suppose," Jean continued, but she stared down into her glass of lemonade thoughtfully. "Truthfully, Alice, I don't think we can ever be as happy as we were before Mei Lin came back. It's never going to be quite as perfect or uncomplicated as it seemed in Adelaide."

Alice had never asked about what happened in Adelaide. It was hardly something she could have talked to Blake about when he returned; he was a work colleague and it was none of her business. But it had obviously been a precious time to Jean.

"How will it be different, though, Jean? Surely in time all the problems will be forgotten."

"Maybe. But we won't be able to get married in church, and a part of him will always love Mei Lin. And now I've met her, and actually in the end I liked her, so I will always wonder if we've done the right thing." Jean found herself telling Alice far more than she intended. It seemed she was a good listener.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the sunshine of an early autumn afternoon.

"Lucien chose you, though, Jean. He didn't have to, but he did. Maybe that's better, in a way. If Mei Lin had died you might have wondered if he would have always preferred her."

Jean looked at Alice curiously. Perhaps Alice had a point.

"I suppose so. But that doesn't change the problem of the divorce." Jean sighed. This was the hardest thing for her.

"Nothing is perfect, Jean. Sometimes we have to settle for what we can have. You will be able to marry him, and I'm sure you will both be very happy. Maybe you just have to accept it will be mostly perfect." She smiled at Jean, and Jean saw in Alice a woman who envied her, just a little, for having a man she loved and who loved her.

Jean felt a whisper of shame. She had nearly everything. Why was she worrying about the tiny thing she couldn't have?


	14. Never

"I'll never give you my blessing again." S2E5

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He had said it as he went to walk away, intending it to sound light-hearted, but it actually sounded a bit wistful. Perhaps she wouldn't notice.

He glanced back and Jean seemed untroubled, she just went on folding laundry.

This wasn't the moment to say anything, and he wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. He just knew he was miserable at the thought of Jean seeing another man. She had put an end to Robert's hopes just months earlier, so what had changed now?

The shock of seeing her dressed for a date with Richard was still fresh in his memory. Yet Lucien had no claim on her; she was his housekeeper, that's all. She could go out with any man she chose.

So why did that thought make him so unhappy?

He was fond of her, enjoyed her company, but he had never really seen Jean as a woman. Now, maybe, he was just starting to.

That dress. He would blame it on the dress. It was making him have uncomfortable thoughts about his friend.

Or maybe it was a bit more. They had both just confessed to a little sadness and loneliness. Now she'd started looking for someone to ease that, would she possibly, maybe, one day...look his way?

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As Lucien turned away for the second time, she looked up, hopeful of prolonging the conversation. But she lost her nerve. She wanted to tell him she didn't want his blessing to see another man, in fact she didn't want to see another man anyway.

But how could she explain that? It would mean telling him what she felt, and she hadn't even dared put a name to those feelings yet. Because then she could be hurt.

He was rapidly becoming the most important person in her life, but she still hesitated on the brink of longing for more. She knew it was too soon for her, and she didn't think he'd even really noticed her yet.

But she lived with the fear of another Joy coming into his life. What did that mean?

They were both lonely people, they'd seen too much loss and sadness. Jean thought she knew the solution to that, but she wasn't ready to risk her job, her home, her security and her heart. Not just yet, anyway.

She would say nothing for now.


	15. Odd Duck

"Well, Sergeant Davis, he's a bit of an odd duck, but he's alright too." S4E3

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Odd? Charlie looked at her with annoyance, but then softened. It was just her way, a bit of harmless banter. A step forward towards friendship, perhaps.

Actually she was growing on him, just a little. When he first met her, before he knew she was Lawson's niece, she just seemed irritating and demanding, always trying to get him to say something she could write about.

But he'd seen behind it an eagerness to get on, to escape from the horoscopes and anniversary parties that were all she had been trusted with so far. And she was curious and persistent, and she had shared her photos and findings, even if rather reluctantly.

He understood that. Ambition was what had brought him to Ballarat too. And he had been friendless in a small town too.

That ice cream...that was kindness, something he loved to see, and that she hadn't needed to do. Rose might prove...interesting.

So this time the banter was all a bit more personal. The doc and Frank might be "nice" but he was an "odd duck", apparently.

She may have been talking to the child, but it was for his ears too; she saw him a bit differently to those older men. Maybe as a new friend, maybe she was teasing him, but she was definitely singling him out.


	16. Parents

**_Thank you for the reviews and messages! Particularly the suggestions for the titles of future drabbles. Some of them were even clean!_**

"You look very comfortable like that," he said quietly, coming to sit next to her on the couch.

"Well, it's easy enough when they are this age," came Jean's reply, as she looked down at Amelia, asleep in her lap.

Lucien put his arm around her and she shifted a little to make room for him, careful not to wake the baby.

"All they need is feeding, changing, and cuddling. I had no problems really with my boys when they were babies, but it all seemed to go wrong as they got older." She sighed and settled her head on Lucien's shoulder.

He seemed to have upset her, when he had tried to offer a compliment. But Jean's sons were always going to be a difficult subject for her.

"I'm sure you did your best for them, Jean. And I'm sure they know that." He knew it was a platitude, but what did he know about children? He'd missed almost all of Li's childhood.

"We were doing fine till Christopher was killed. Then it all fell apart. Jack had been such a sweet boy, but he became so angry and out of control. I wasn't strong enough to persuade him to do what was right."

She sighed again and looked down at her granddaughter.

"I thought I'd done better with Christopher, but he thinks I favoured Jack and didn't care about him. I just thought he was fine. I must have been blind not to see it."

Lucien kissed her temple. "They both know you love them. You did your best, and you had so much else to manage, with losing your husband and dealing with the farm. I think you're being too harsh on yourself."

"I just worry about Jack all the time. Perhaps Christopher is right, and I did ignore him a bit."

"Christopher is a credit to you, and Jack will be fine, I'm sure. He just needs to grow up a bit more. You'll see. And anyway, Christopher and Ruby trust you with this little one, so they must think you know what you're doing!" Lucien chuckled a little. They certainly wouldn't think he was any sort of good influence.

"I'm sorry, Lucien, I'm lucky to have them, I know." She was thinking about Lucien losing Li for so many years, and then being rejected by her.

He nodded. "That war has a lot to answer for. So many people were damaged by it."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching Amelia sleep. "Maybe life will be easier for this little one," he added.

Lucien stroked Amelia delicately on her head , and then turned to kiss her grandmother.


	17. Quayside

She was glad in the end that Superintendent Carlyle had waited. She could see him on the quayside, standing at the edge of the crowd of friends and relatives who had come to see passengers off.

Mei Lin had urged him to leave, thinking he had done more than enough by bringing her to the ship. But he had insisted, saying it was a pleasure. He hadn't spotted her yet, leaning against the rail on the top deck.

On the drive from Ballarat to Melbourne they had spoken very little. She knew she was wrapped up in her own thoughts, and she scarcely knew Frank, but they simply didn't have much to say to each other.

She was grateful for all he had done in fixing up the passports and tickets, but she knew he had done that for Lucien's sake, and maybe for Jean too. It had just speeded up sending her away, which, if they were honest, was what everyone wanted.

And she didn't want to stay in Australia, not now.

When Derek Alderton had suggested to her that he could get her to Australia, to meet Lucien again, she had jumped at the chance, of course. Anything would be better than the refugee camp, and Derek had told her that Lucien had not remarried.

She had been naive of course. She knew Derek was using her, trying to get Lucien to rejoin the army, but she hadn't expected him to have lied to her so blatantly.

Was it a lie, not to have told her that Li was alive? Well, it was as bad as a lie. How could Derek have kept that news from her? She had missed even more of her only daughter's life, and that of her granddaughter. That was hard to forgive.

She could only hope that Li would want to see her, and that she would forgive her more readily than she had Lucien. Mei Lin understood that Lucien had spent years searching for them both, but perhaps that didn't seem good enough to their daughter. She frowned slightly at the thought; could she heal the breach between them?

And then there was Jean. Derek had very conveniently not mentioned Jean, perhaps suspecting that Mei Lin would not have agreed to his plan if she had known. Even on the evening she arrived, it was obvious she had interrupted something between the housekeeper and her husband.

She had quickly suspected Jean and Lucien were lovers, but it gradually became clear the situation was not so simple. Most of the town thought Jean was probably his mistress, but not Charlie, or Alice, or in fact anyone who knew them well. Mei Lin smiled at the idea. Now she knew Jean better, the idea seemed preposterous.

But it was equally clear that Lucien loved Jean, and that Mei Lin's return was not going to change that.

So, all in all, everyone was happier and more settled with Mei Lin on the way to Hong Kong. Life in Ballarat could go back to normal. And she didn't mind that. She didn't love Lucien in the way she should love her husband; too many years had passed.

But that did leave her with an unknown and uncertain future. She was going to meet her daughter, whom she had not seen since she was four years old, and a granddaughter she had never met. And they would have to try to make a new life together, in a new place. She had survived far worse, but it was still a little daunting.

So in the end she was glad to see a familiar face on the quayside. Someone to wave to and who would wave back. Someone who acknowledged what she was doing, by leaving, by agreeing to a divorce, by making it all possible.

But she owed Lucien that much. He had saved her life twice.

The horn sounded, signalling their imminent departure, and Frank looked up, scanning the faces at the rail. He grinned when he spotted her and she waved to him, suddenly catching the mood of excitement and anticipation.

She would look forward, she resolved, not back to a pre-war marriage, in a different life time. As the boat moved away, Frank Carlyle waved to her.

She called out "Thank you," to him, but it was doubtful he could hear her above the crowds. He stood looking out towards her, arm raised, until she seemed like a tiny dot, and the crowd began to thin out.

"Good luck," he said quietly to himself, and then he turned away for the long drive home..


	18. Remembering

**This story is far too long to call a drabble really. But I got carried away. Thanks to miss ouiser for the idea.**

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Jean used her finger to stir the buttons in the old tobacco tin. This always reminded her of childhood, when her mother would let her play with the buttons while she sewed. Now the tin was hers, and most of the buttons told a story.

She was looking for a plain shirt button to mend Lucien's shirt, and as she searched she glanced up at him fondly. He was sitting in the armchair, reading the newspaper, and for a moment he could have been his father. Jean thought of all the evenings she had sat sewing or knitting in this same room, but with Thomas Blake.

For the last decade of her life she had worked for the two doctors, and she laughed to herself at the thought. When she first came to this house she feared she would not last a month. Thomas Blake was serious and rather dour, and it was rare to see him smile in those early days.

She arrived at a difficult time in her life; young Christopher had just left home to join the army, and Jack was in Melbourne following his arrest and detention. Jean had had to sell the farm and find some sort of live in work for herself. For a farm wife, housekeeping was a job she had the skills for, and she had been grateful for the work.

However, the doctor was taciturn, and inclined to be critical if his meals were late or his shirts needed mending. They had not got off to a promising start as Jean tried to find her feet in her new role.

In time they reached an understanding. She came to realise the doctor was lonely and set in his ways. He came to appreciate her company and to enjoy her cooking. They rubbed along. Eventually they even became friends.

Now Jean's gaze alighted on a suitable button, one she recognised as coming from one of Thomas's shirts. Lucien wouldn't notice that it was very slightly different from the others on his shirt, and anyway, it would be hidden by his tie and waistcoat.

That was something the two men had in common, she thought. They both dressed smartly, preferring to wear a suit, though she had to admit she did far more mending of Lucien's clothing than she had for his father. Thomas may have been the police surgeon, but he never seemed to find it necessary to wade into lakes, climb over fences or chase criminals through fields.

And they both carried a certain sadness. Thomas Blake had lost his wife young and had been estranged from his son for years. When the old doctor first mentioned Lucien, Jean had been surprised to hear he even had a son. In the six months she had worked for him then, Thomas had not talked about his family at all, beyond saying that his wife was dead and her studio was to remain locked.

Over the coming years, all she knew of Lucien was that he took after his mother, and that he lived a mysterious and uncertain life somewhere in Asia. Later Thomas hinted that Lucien had made an 'unfortunate' marriage, and that he had not been back to Australia in many years.

When Thomas Blake became seriously ill, he gave Jean an address so she could write to Lucien, and he dictated letters for her to send. The final one resulted in Lucien's arrival, swiftly followed by his father's death.

She thought back to her first meeting with Lucien. It was hard to remember how surprised she had been. From Thomas's few hints on the matter, she had expected a tearaway son with an unsuitable wife. Instead, Lucien arrived dressed as smartly as his father, quite formal in his manner, and alone. First impressions could be so misleading!

Now, two years on, almost everything she had thought about him had proved wrong. Initially polite and even charming, Lucien could also be antagonistic and difficult, sometimes to the point of rudeness. He had arrived alone, but first his daughter and then his wife were found.

If she had thought she had made a difficult start with his father, that was nothing to the problems she had with Lucien in the early days. In character he was certainly unlike his father. He led an erratic life, full of unpredictability and adventure, which at first angered her, but later became part of the attraction. And of course he drank far too much and still suffered the after effects of the war. She suspected he always would.

So what would his father think of Lucien now? The almost respectable local GP, police surgeon and club member; but now divorced and about to remarry, and to Jean in particular. That might actually have pleased his father, she thought. She grinned to herself at the thought of the prodigal son marrying the widow from Ballarat.

Lucien turned to her now, looking curious. "What's amusing you so much, Jean," he asked playfully.

"I was thinking about your father, and what he would think of all this." She gestured at them both, and Lucien laughed.

"He would think you can do better than marry me, Jean, but I'm sure he'd think I've been lucky to find you."

"I think I was the lucky one, to find you both. If your father hadn't given me a job, I would never have met you."

Lucien nodded slowly. He still found it hard to forgive his father for sending him away, but maybe Jean was right. His father had done something good for him - he had found Jean for him, and he was grateful for that.

"Here's to Dad, then," he said, lifting his glass as if to toast him. "With thanks." And they drank to him together.


	19. Silk

**That nightdress...**

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Jean unfolded the tissue paper and looked again at the delicate silk. Since she bought the nightdress some weeks ago, she had done this several times, but she was still undecided. It was undoubtedly beautiful, but was it too much? Would he think it was too daring? On the other hand, if she couldn't wear it on their wedding night, then when could she?

She lifted it out of the package and held it up against herself. It fell softly to her knees. She couldn't help smiling. It had cost far too much money, but it was so lovely she had to buy it anyway. And she was slowly getting used to the idea of spending money on herself. Her new status would come with the means to dress better, if she chose.

In the palest shade of blush pink, it was not meant for a girl, but a grown woman. Cut on the bias in crepe de chine, it was designed to give confidence. Jean hoped it would work on her. The seamstress in her could admire the embroidery on the bodice, which gradually faded out near the hem, but in the end all she cared about was that she loved it, and she thought Lucien would too.

In fact, she suspected that it might not stay on for very long at all...


	20. Teacups and Suitcases

**This is a weird one! Based on the Tumblr chats about how in many TV shows (Dr Blake included) the teacups are always empty, this nonsense story assumes that the characters know and accept that they are living fictional lives. Probably the nearest I'll ever get to crackfic!**

 **Set early in S2E1 when Lucien returns from China.**

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When Lucien returned to the house the following morning, he was greeted enthusiastically by Mattie.

"Let the doctor get his breath!" exclaimed Jean. "I've left your suitcases in your room, Lucien. Do you want me to unpack them for you?"

"No need," he replied. "They're both empty. In fact they were empty when I took them to China."

"What's the point in empty cases?" Jean asked, curiously.

"Well, it reminds the viewers I've been away. Otherwise they might not remember what happened at the end of series one." Lucien replied, making it all sound very reasonable. "Now I'd better get on and see some patients. Is Nell Clasby here?"

"I'm sorry, Lucien. I didn't want to tell you yesterday, but she passed away." Jean gave him a look of sympathy and an empty cup and saucer.

"What's this?" Lucien asked, looking at the cup in disappointment.

"Well, it's meant to represent the sympathy I'm offering you at the loss of your friend. But the production company is on a budget. The ABC doesn't have money to burn, you know. So, I'm sorry, no tea."

"Right, well are there any patients to see? Or do we have to imagine them too?"

Jean smiled. "Of course there are patients! But try not to let them speak, or we'd have to pay them more."

Jean returned to the kitchen and sighed. Mattie looked at her in sympathy.

"Are you alright, Jean?" she asked with concern.

"Yes, I suppose so, Mattie. I'm just wondering why Mrs McDonald had to catch the same bus as Lucien back to Ballarat."

"Well, it's probably to contrast how happy you were to see Lucien, with how delighted he was to see Joy. They are setting you up as rivals for his affections. But don't worry, Jean, they are only paying her for one episode in this series, so I suspect she won't last long."

Jean smiled at that, and they settled down at the table to pretend to drink tea.


	21. Unpinned

He would never grow tired of watching her, he was sure. She sat at the dressing table taking off her make up, and he felt a little honoured that she didn't mind him seeing her do this. Somehow without make up, she looked more herself. More his Jean.

From his chair in the opposite corner, he ran his eyes over her straight back in her silky nightdress, and then watched as she lifted her hands to her head.

As she started to take out her hair pins, he caught her eye in the mirror, and she smiled at him.

"May I?" he asked quietly, and she nodded. Lucien came and sat on the edge of their bed, behind her. He gently drew out the hair pins on one side, then on the other, trying not to pull her hair, then set the pins down in the dish on the dresser.

He smiled at her and began to move his fingers through her curls, drawing them out and letting them go. He watched in the mirror as she closed her eyes and let her head fall forward a little, lips parted, as he raked through those messy strands of hair.

Lucien lifted the hair from the back of her neck and delicately kissed her there. At first he did this so gently it almost tickled, and she shivered slightly. Then he nipped gently at her neck and shoulder, pushing the strap of her nightdress to one side with his fingertips. The sound she made in her throat was so quiet and low, he felt it rather than heard it.

"Come to bed now," he whispered in her ear, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, covering his hand on her shoulder with her own.


	22. Valuable

"It's very precious to me."

"I'll take extra care of it."

S4E2

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He knew what he wanted to do. His father had died only hours beforehand, but it was his mother he was thinking about. Her studio remained locked, he couldn't face that, but he wanted to know her again, to see something of hers that could bring her back to him.

He felt no such longing for his father. He had died peacefully, finally slipping away while Lucien dozed in the chair beside him. Lucien felt no great regret for that; his father had always wanted to be alone, it seemed, and Lucien was little comfort to him. They had nothing left to say to each other.

But he hated that he had never said goodbye to his mother. One day she was there, forceful and vibrant, the next she was gone, and his life would never be the same. As a boy he had cried for her, but now he missed her more, if anything. He was alone, all his family gone.

So he slowly opened his mother's jewellery box, and amongst the pearl necklaces and the brooches, he saw a small ring box. Inside was his mother's engagement ring, and it brought back a flood of memories; his mother dressed up to go to a concert, to a party, or out to the club with his father. She didn't wear the ring everyday, so in his mind it was forever associated with something special.

He supposed it was valuable, in the monetary sense. But its value to him couldn't be measured in pounds and shillings. That value lay in the person who wore it.

Now it was his, he supposed, but he had no one to give it to. Mei Lin was missing, almost certainly dead, and Li with her. Most likely it would never be worn again, and when he died it would be sold, and his mother forgotten with it.

"The undertaker rang, Doctor. I said you would ring him back." Jean's voice intruded on his thoughts and he sighed. He would have to give her notice, he thought, but not today. Her eyes were red rimmed and he suspected she had been crying. Ironic that his father's housekeeper mourned him more than his son did.

Lucien made the effort. "Thank you, Jean." She came closer and looked curiously at the jewellery box.

"My mother's," he answered the question she hadn't asked. "This was her engagement ring." He showed her the white gold ring set with several diamonds.

"Your father missed her terribly," Jean replied. "You both must have." There was a moment of understanding between them.

Then Lucien returned the ring to the jewellery box and got up to go and make his phone call. Perhaps he'd wait a while before giving Jean notice, he should let her take the time to find something new. He owed her that much, or at least his father did.


	23. Wisdom

Lucien was rarely at a loss to know what to do, but this was different. Since the moment he had seen Mei Lin on his doorstep, he had been out of his depth. That first night he had been angry, not so much with his wife as with fate, or God, or whoever arranged these things.

The whole sleepless night had been spent thinking through scenarios, trying to find a way to put his life back how he wanted it. He kept remembering Jean's face as the truth dawned on her; not just pain but a moment of mistrust, quickly hidden.

Now, two weeks later, Jean was stubbornly pushing him towards Mei Lin. On the other hand, every time Mei Lin reminded him she was his wife, he found himself thinking of Jean.

Usually when he had a dilemma, he asked Jean's opinion. He had often thought of her as his moral compass. But this time, she was too involved. He needed advice, but he didn't know who to turn to.

And so, later that evening, he found himself standing on Matthew's doorstep, clutching a bottle of whisky. In the end it was his oldest friend, the man who had known him since they were boys, his was the wisdom he sought.

Rose opened the door, and grinned at him. Lucien had noticed the fleeting look of surprise though. He had not visited Lawson since he left hospital, in fact he could hardly remember the last time he had called on Matthew. It had always been the other way round.

"Come in, Doctor. Have you got a story for me, or...?" Then she noticed the whisky. "You've come to see Matthew."

He nodded and followed her silently into the old fashioned parlour. It looked to Lucien exactly as it had the last time he had been there, actually the same as it had when Matthew's parents had lived there. Much like his own house, in fact.

Matthew raised his eyebrows at Blake but didn't speak. He gestured to a chair and when Lucien was seated, he reached out for the whisky bottle. Rose closed the door on her way out.

"How's the leg?" Lucien asked.

"You're the doctor," Matthew grunted at him. "Could you find some glasses?" He peered at the label on the whisky. Single malt. There must be a good reason for the visit.

When the drinks were poured, Matthew continued. "I'm sure you're not here to discuss my health."

"No...I need someone to help me."

At this, Matthew looked pointedly at his leg, still in a cast, and Lucien tried again.

"Not help to do something, just help. I don't know what to do about Mei Lin and Jean. It's all so difficult and I can't see anything clearly."

Matthew looked at him closely. He knew Lucien's wife was back, of course. The Ballarat grapevine had told him that much. But he'd never met her, and she had always seemed a romantic character - the lost wife, the reason for Blake's melancholy - yet now she was back, and he seemed unhappy.

So, that must mean...he loved Jean. Matthew had never been absolutely sure about that. Blake wouldn't answer any of his questions when he came back from Adelaide, and he'd hardly seen him since. But surely you don't follow your housekeeper to Adelaide for no reason, even if she's an excellent housekeeper?

"Tell me about Mei Lin, Blake. What's she like?" Matthew broke the lengthy silence that had followed Lucien's words.

"She's the same as she ever was, but somehow different too. When we first knew each other she was always laughing. She was beautiful, she still is. She's so strong, you wouldn't believe what she has survived, Matthew. She's very calm, always dignified. She seems more serious now, though."

"And do you love her?" Matthew asked.

"I...don't know. She's the mother of my daughter. I should love her, and in some ways I do, but it's not the same as it was. I'm not in love with her. But she's my wife."

"Alright, tell me about Jean." Matthew said, leaning over to refill their glasses.

"You know Jean. You don't need me to tell you what she's like," Lucien said. He looked almost embarrassed.

"I know what I think about Jean, Lucien, but I want to know what you think."

"Jean is...lovely. She's beautiful, she's my best friend, she's...everything to me. I can't bear the thought of her leaving, Matthew. She's all the things Mei Lin is, and more: she's strong and quiet, and fierce and smart."

"And you're in love with her." It wasn't a question.

Lucien nodded, and swallowed hard. "Yes. I was in the middle of asking Jean to marry me when Mei Lin arrived." He had told no one else this, and he knew Jean would be mortified at anyone knowing, but it was central to Lucien's dilemma. Lawson had to be told.

Matthew stared at him in disbelief.

"Poor Jean," he eventually replied. They drank more whisky, sitting in the gathering gloom of the evening.

Matthew finally spoke. "If you live with Mei Lin, three people will be unhappy; Mei Lin will realise soon enough you are only there from a sense of duty, you'll be bloody miserable, and Jean...well, you'll have ruined her reputation, broken her heart, and then left her. But if you divorce Mei Lin, you and Jean will be happy, and Mei Lin may be miserable. Does she love you?"

Lucien shrugged. "I don't know. She wants the security of being married, I think. She's not talked about love."

"Could you look after her without being married to her?" Matthew wasn't sure if this idea would be welcome, but Lucien nodded slowly.

"Maybe. A divorce could be ...difficult. I don't want to drag Jean into it."

"Whatever you do, you need to decide soon. You can't keep them both like this for long."

Lucien smiled grimly. "That's what Jean says," he sighed.

Matthew laughed at that. "Well, I think I know which woman you will choose, Lucien."

Lucien grinned at his friend. For the first time he knew what he needed to do, and that was enough for now.


	24. X Ray

**An example of Alice playing Jean's usual role, when she discusses the case with Blake. X was always going to be the trickiest letter to write for, but this gave me an excuse to write about Alice. I'm hoping for more Alice in series 5!**

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Blake had hoped to finish with the painting before anyone discovered what he was up to. Still, at least the intruder was Alice. She could be relied on to keep quiet if necessary, and she had the sort of mind needed for this work. Perhaps she was just what he needed right now.

Of course, their banter was all part of the game. She accused him of dissecting a painting, he showed off unnecessarily by calling it a pentimento.

She didn't rise to the bait. She was a Classicist, so her language skills were better than he might expect. She _could_ have replied that it was Italian for repentance, and referred to a painting that had been altered in some way. But she knew Blake was trying to be clever with her, and sometimes it was better to let him think he was winning.

She followed the trail he had left, comparing pictures of the two paintings to the image on the light box. But why would someone do that? This was what Lucien appreciated in Alice; she saw straight to the main issue. She still managed to have a sly dig at his (and his mother's?) tendency to try to annoy everyone. But their friendship was a confident one now.

From the moment she walked through the door, expecting to find a body, she had kept up with him, asking the right questions, not at all uncomfortable with the unfamiliar problem. She treated the whole thing as she would a corpse - a puzzle to be solved.

And she didn't hesitate to suggest the next course of action - speak to the woman in the painting. Alice obviously didn't recognise Agnes Clasby, but she was right. The solution was in Agnes' hands, and later she would delight in telling Lucien what she and his mother had done to outwit his father and Michael Tyneman.

For now Alice smiled conspiratorially at Blake, and left quietly. This evening's 'patient' had been more intriguing than most.


	25. Yielding

Afterwards she wondered: did he know she would give in eventually?

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Lucien's second attempt at a proposal was as fruitless as the first. Before he could even get the question out, Jean had turned on her heel and walked away again.

"Lucien, I cannot marry you, so don't even ask!" And she slammed the front door closed, leaving him stunned and disappointed, on the wrong side of the door. What had that kiss meant then? He knew she wanted him, the kiss left him in no doubt. But she wouldn't agree to marry him.

Once she'd calmed down, Jean explained. She wouldn't agree to marry a man who was still married to someone else, and furthermore, she wouldn't marry a divorced man either.

Lucien was horrified. He could see why she wouldn't be engaged until after he was divorced, but if she wouldn't marry him even then, what hope was there for them? But she wouldn't compromise.

He spent hours trying to persuade her, but she was determined; she wanted to be married in the eyes of the church or not at all.

"You do know I'm going to keep asking you anyway? And one day you will say yes?" Lucien asked eventually. She nodded. He wasn't sure which question she was agreeing with. But it gave him some hope.

For months they continued as before; they were Jean and Lucien at home, Mrs Beazley and Dr Blake outside. There were some furtive kisses in the sun room, a few loving cuddles on the couch, plenty of crime solving all over Ballarat. And quietly, Lucien was getting on with the divorce.

And every week or so, Lucien would slip the question into the conversation. He discovered there were many, many ways to ask. He tried the very formal - "Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?". He tried playful - "Think how much fun we could have if you would only marry me". He tried casual - "Mrs Blake has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

But Jean had as many ways of turning him down; sometimes regretfully, sometimes with a kiss, sometimes firmly, always lovingly. Somehow she always left the door open a little, and they both knew he would ask again.

The divorce came through, and Lucien hoped this would change her mind, but it didn't seem to. He hid his frustration, worried that if he pushed her too hard she would withdraw from him.

One evening after dinner, the phone rang and Jean disappeared into the study to talk to Christopher. She came back thoughtful, and maybe a little distracted, and eventually told Lucien that Christopher and Ruby were expecting another baby.

"Are you going back to Adelaide then?" Lucien asked, hoping she wasn't.

She shook her head. "I don't think they need me this time. I've just realised how quickly life goes by, though."

They sat listening to the gramophone for a while, quietly together, then Lucien picked up the newspaper to read it.

Just as he started to read, Jean spoke. "Ask me again, Lucien."

Distracted, he didn't realise what she meant. "Ask me to marry you, Lucien!" She took the paper from him and grasped his hand excitedly.

He laughed nervously for a moment, then replied, "No. I don't think I will, actually." He was smiling at her though.

"Oh Lucien, you can be impossible! I've just realised we're both getting older. I don't know how many years we've got left, but I don't want to waste them. But you have to ask me!"

He looked seriously at her now. "You know it'll have to be a civil wedding?" She nodded.

"Very well. Jean, will you marry me?"

She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she kissed him as she had that day on the driveway - urgently, unthinkingly - and, as she pulled away a fraction, she breathed her quiet yes against his cheek.


	26. Zip

**Well, here we are at Z. Tempted as I was by the idea of a trip to the zoo, I resisted. I hope you like it!**

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As weddings went, it had been as low-key as it was possible to make it. A brief ceremony at the registry office, a few drinks with friends, and a taxi home as darkness started to fall.

In the taxi they relaxed almost immediately, chuckling a little with relief that it was over. Lucien pulled off his tie and undid his collar, Jean took off her shoes which were starting to pinch.

Lucien started to slide his hand from her knee, up under the hem of her blue silk dress, but as he got tantalisingly near her stocking top, Jean flashed him a warning frown. He had come to know that look only too well over recent weeks as he had tried to test the waters. This time however her eyes signalled 'later' rather than 'back off'.

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Some time later they were in their familiar places in the kitchen, Jean at the stove waiting for the kettle to boil, and Lucien sitting at the head of the table. Except that Lucien was wearing his best suit, with the waistcoat hanging open, and Jean was in her wedding dress and stockinged feet.

They hadn't turned the lights on, and the house was almost silent; no Charlie tonight. In the thin moonlight they listened to the hiss of the kettle.

"Tea, Jean? Really?" He raised an eyebrow.

She didn't reply, but instead placed the full cup and saucer in front of him. The ritual settled her nerves, and perhaps Lucien's too, as he sipped the drink and watched her over the rim of the cup.

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Jean rested her forehead in the warm space between his neck and shoulder. Her lips were moving slowly and deliciously against his collarbone, and he was finding it hard to go slowly. Jean had already removed his waistcoat and dropped it, most unusually, on the bedroom floor. She was now turning her attention to his shirt buttons, and Lucien was beginning to feel at a disadvantage.

Her dress may have been beautiful, but it didn't come with instructions. He had one hand gently cupping her breast over the dress, while his other hand started to finger the row of many buttons that ran up the back of the dress. He struggled to manage them one handed, but was reluctant to move his other hand away from the soft curved place it had found.

Then Jean lifted her head for a moment and murmured, "Try this."

She took his hand from her breast and guided it to the back of her neck. He felt the tiny metal slider and realisation dawned: the buttons were just for decoration.

He grinned and slid the zip open just a little, then traced his fingers down her neck. He kissed her lips then, teasing them with his tongue, and gradually he opened the zip all the way to her hips. His hand was now flat on the curve of her lower back, and as he broke the kiss and stepped back a little, the dress started to fall away. Running his eyes in awe over her exposed shoulders and breasts, Lucien spoke at last.

" I don't know who invented the zip fastener, " he breathed, "but he was clearly a genius." And he pressed his lips to her bare shoulder.

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 **I've loved writing these stories. There's so much freedom in writing snippets and moments, and I've probably ended up with more ideas at the end than I had in the beginning!**

 **If you have read most or all of them, could you be really helpful and give me some overall feedback? I'd love to know which stories you liked best, but also some constructive criticism would be good - which ones did you skip over? Was the crackfic too weird? Was there a character you wished I'd included (I feel guilty about Bill Hobart!)? And then I can try to do better.**

 **Thanks for all the reviews xx**


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